


The Marquise and the Count of the hundred angels

by a_Kabby_k



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Absolute monarchy France, Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9696104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_Kabby_k/pseuds/a_Kabby_k
Summary: Abigail suddenly realized that there was something wrong. It didn’t look like a temporary goodbye; it looked like a farewell, forever.«What’s wrong? Where are you going?» she asked, taking a step toward him, this time with absolute disregard for how much her tone could sound worried.The Count let out a deep sigh and nervously rubbed his nape.«America. And I’m afraid that it’s a one-way trip,» he confessed, pursing his lips like if he was trying to hold back his emotions.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tinkbooklover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinkbooklover/gifts).



> First, thank you to Shefollowedfires for the Beta-ing, fast and helpful, again thank you so much. 
> 
> Then, TINK here we gooo, Happy Valentin's day !!!!! I hope you enjoy this fic and I'm really sorry for the drama part but you know me, I just can't help :D 
> 
> You said : "Basically I just don't like some smut that's just very much full on about the physical stuff which I realise is the point but I don't want the emotions and feelings to be left behind during sex" sooo I hope I succeed, I did my best to not be too "mechanical". I would have like writing from Marcus' POV too but I was running out of time so I made a choice and I choose Abby's. 
> 
> I'm so happy to write something for you, you're really helpful with all my others fics and I'm glad to have the opportunity to write something you want :D 
> 
> I'm not used to historical AU, this is a first time for me so I choose the French monarchy period because that's what I know most and I drew inspiration from an old television movie "Angélique Marquise des Anges" which I love re-watch during each Chritmas Holiday (the picture of the outfit come from this movie).
> 
> Well, I'm gonna shup up now and let you enjoy your gif :D

 

 

 

 

Darkness had fallen and the noise of the street had finally stopped. It was a cold and rainy night of February. The stars were hidden by dark clouds and the few hoof-beats which resonated on the cobblestones were muffled by the crackles of the fire burning in the hearth.

Abigail De Griffin, Marquise of Espérance, was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair for the night. It wasn’t really late but she was invited by the king - Thelonius Jaha, first of his name - to the royal promenade in the gardens of Versailles the next day. The Marquise knew that it was a great honor but, to be honest, she didn’t enjoy the court of the king. In fact, the more the time passed, the less she enjoyed the king’s company. Even if he had never made an inappropriate move toward her, Abby knew that he was expecting something from her; something she wasn’t willing to give. Stealing the title of the King's " _official favourite_ " from Diana De Sydney wasn’t something she wanted, and she never would. Nonetheless, with her husband’s death, it was her sole responsibility to offer a proper life to her daughter, and she had every intention to succeed. Being a member of the king’s court was the best way to find a real catch for Clarke and to keep her safe from the family’s debts. Jake’s execution for treason had left them penniless due to the legal seizure, and all they had left, now, was their name and the king’s friendship.

Suddenly, knocks resonated against the door, quickly followed by the maid’s voice.

«Madame, I’m sorry to disturb you but the Count of Arkadia is here. He would like to see you,» Raven told her with a polite curtsey.

The name made her heart miss a beat, and the brush almost slipped from her hand.

«The Count of--», Abby started to repeat, stunned; before jumping up from her chair, as if the wood had suddenly burnt her.

She hadn’t heard a word from him for months. No letters, no official information about the diplomatic shuttle he was leading; not even a rumor. He was back, he was in her house and he wanted to see her. The thought filled her heart with joy and nervousness at the same time. She repressed an improper wide smile and held herself back from running to meet him.

She was about to take a first step toward the door, but she saw her reflection in the mirror and remembered that her clothing wasn’t really proper to receive a man. She was wearing a long blue robe, with seams enlivened by mink fur. The lower half of her body was perfectly hidden, but her cleavage was a little bit too open. Besides, her bun was half-undone and her make-up was merely the remainder of a long day.

«It’s late. I... I’m not...» she stammered as she took a look at her robe and tried to smooth it nervously.

«That’s what I told him but he says it’s very important,» the maid answered with a pursing of her lips.

«Okay...» the Marquise breathed as she turned around to face the mirror.

She couldn’t refuse to receive him, not after all those months. And anyway, she didn’t want to.

«Just...Just give me a minute,» she said as she began to readjust the cleavage of her robe, and tried to do something about her messy bun.

«Where is he?» she asked as she gently slapped her cheek to get some color on it.

«He’s waiting in the lobby,» Raven answered, taking a look over her shoulder.

«Good. How am I looking?» Abby asked as she nervously waved her arms along her sides.

«Well, he’ll like you for sure,» Raven told her with an unequivocal raising of her eyebrow.

«That’s not what I was asking,» the Marquise chided her; rolling her eyes but with a soft, satisfied smile at the corner of her lips.

Officially, Raven was the maid, but to be true, Abigail saw her more like her young sister or like her own child. The girl’s mother had always worked for her family but the poor woman died in childbirth, so Raven had been brought up like a family member.

«You look great, as always,» the girl complimented her with a smirk.

«Thank you, Raven. It’s okay, you can let him inside,» she told her before checking her reflection one last time.

The wait didn’t last long, but it felt like an eternity to her. Abby didn’t know that the Count had returned from his diplomatic mission. She thought he was still in London, negotiating over some mysterious territory across the ocean. She had waited for his letters. She had spent the last few weeks waiting in vain for news of him, wondering if the kiss he was about to give her the last time she saw him was the cause of his silence. She had thought about this missed kiss a thousand times, during a thousand nights. She had thought about how it could have ended if courage hadn't failed him that day in the royal gardens. Despite everything they’d been through, she would have liked, more than anything, to taste his lips - to feel his fingers clench on her waist and to know how it felt to be in his Marcus De Kane's strong arms.

In a way, it was strange. Almost irrational. Because, after all, he was the one who'd come one cold winter morning to arrest her husband, his friend. He was the one who read the _lettre de cachet_ : the royal order sentencing her husband to death. But he was also the one who took care of her and her daughter after that. The food supplies, the deed of property of this house, the money - everything had been sent anonymously, but even if they had never talked about it, the Marquise knew that everything was from him. At that time, and because she knew, she would have wanted to refuse it; but she couldn’t. She had lost everything... and she couldn’t let her daughter sleep outside.

Besides, Marcus De Kane, Count of Arkadia, wasn’t the man he pretended to be at the court. Behind the mask of coldness, there was so much more; there was a man with a good heart, and Abigail could see it now. She had fully seen the real man the day he came back with her daughter, safe and sound in his arms, after she had been kidnapped by the Mountain Men - a group of brigands hiding in the catacombs under the city.

After a few seconds, shy knocks were heard against the door.

«Come in,» Abby said, trying hard to keep a neutral tone despite the excitement which was engulfing her.

«Madame,» the Count greeted her politely with a bow of his head as he walked in.

The Count of Arkadia was a tall man. Tall and very attractive. The rumors made him the most coveted single man in the whole of Paris. Even at their worst, the Marquise couldn’t have denied it. He was mysterious and charismatic. He was courteous and well-mannered. And there was a feeling of strength and of courage which issued from him. His long dark hair called to be touched, and his penetrating gaze was simply irresistible. As always, he was wearing his military uniform with black thigh boots; but strangely, all his medals had been removed.

«Sir,» Abby greeted him back with a pleasant smile.

«I’m sorry to disturb you, Madame, I know it’s late but I didn’t want to leave without telling you goodbye,» he explained solemnly; his hand behind his back, like the good soldier he was.

The Marquise’s smile instantly faded away, a hint of anxiety making its way up inside her.

«You’re leaving? Again?» she couldn’t help hurrying to ask, failing to hide her disappointment.

This wasn’t the news she was expecting. In fact, she didn’t know what she was expecting from his presence this late, but - anything but that.

The Count took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

«I...I hope you’ll be back for Clarke’s birthday. I intend to organize a big party along the Seine,» she told him in a lighter tone, trying to sound more detached.

«No. I won’t. I wish I could but--,» he started to answer, with unusual shiftiness in his eyes.

Abigail suddenly realized that there was something wrong. It didn’t look like a temporary goodbye; it looked like a farewell, forever.

«What’s wrong? Where are you going?» she asked, taking a step toward him, this time with absolute disregard for how much her tone could sound worried.

The Count let out a deep sigh and nervously rubbed his nape.

«America. And I’m afraid that it’s a one-way trip,» he confessed, pursing his lips like if he was trying to hold back his emotions.

The Marquise felt like the ground was falling out from under her feet. Her corset felt suddenly too tight for her to breathe, and the world felt too big for her to live.

«A one-- What do you mean? That’s not possible, the king would never agree to that,» she objected, her fingers clenching around the edge of the chair next to her for support.

«With all due respect Madame, it was the King's proposal. Or rather, should I say, one of them,» he said and she saw a mix of anger and sadness crossing his gaze.

«What’s the other?» she asked, her chin high as she tried to hold back the anger which was now rumbling inside her.

«Death, I suppose; or at least life imprisonment,» he answered with a bitter huff and a shrug.

Even if she had already guessed the answer, the words resonated like a detonation in her ears. Her grip on the chair tightened as her legs began to fail her.

«I don’t understand. Why would he--» she started to say, frowning, as she shook her head in denial.

«I think we both know why,» the Count cut her off in a whisper as he lowered his gaze.

The Marquise froze for a second. She bit her lips and closed her eyes, taking a moment to think. Deep down inside her she already knew. She already knew, but she didn’t want to believe it.

«Me? It’s because of me?» she asked him for confirmation after a few seconds, but there was no question in her tone.

The Count nodded, still without looking at her.

«I wish I could deny but-- Listen, I don’t want you to blame yourself for that, I--» he started to tell her, but she didn’t let him end his sentence.

«I won’t let this happen to you,» she asserted firmly as she took several steps toward him, invading his personal space without restraint.

«I...I’ll speak to him...I’ll tell him that--» she offered, slightly hysterical, before being interrupted by a hand on her arm.

«That my feelings for you aren’t reciprocated, I've already told him,» he finished for her with a sad smile.

The words made her felt like if she had just been slapped. Hard.

«What?» she exclaimed, astounded.

«You think that--Do you really believe that I feel nothing for you?» she asked him with a shaking voice, trying to catch his gaze.

«Do you?» he asked, lifting his head, his gaze seeming to light up with hope for a second.

Abby felt a shy smile starting to grow at the corner of her lips. What a blind idiot. How could he possibly not know? She opened her mouth to answer him but he didn’t let her.

«No ! Don’t! Don’t answer that!» he suddenly hurried to tell her, as he took a step backward.

The Marquise frowned, not understanding the reason for his sudden behavioral change. She took another step toward him, reaching for his hand; but he stepped back even more.

«I...I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Abigail,» he said in a breath before turning around and walking toward the exit.

Abby felt her breath catch in her throat. He was leaving. He was leaving forever.

«Please! Wait,» she called after him, but he didn’t stop.

«Please,» she begged, her voice cracking slightly.

«Marcus !» she finally shouted desperately.

This time, the Count stopped abruptly but he didn’t make a move to turn toward her. One of his hands was grabbing the door jamb, and one of his feet was already on the corridor floor. He seemed to hesitate. He was visibly torn between running away or listening to her. He was in pain; Abby could feel it, see it. His fingers were clenched around the wood of the door and his head was down.

«Look at me,» she breathed as she walked slowly toward him.

«I said, look at me,» she repeated, this time more clearly despite the lump in her throat.

«Please, don't make this any harder than it already is,» he begged her, almost in a murmur.

Abby stopped for a second, biting her lips to hold back a sob. She had to calm down, she had to contain herself; she couldn’t make a spectacle of herself.

«It wouldn’t be possible,» she asserted in a low voice as she tentatively lifted her hand to brush her fingertips softly against his back.

It was the first time she allowed herself to touch him and she wasn’t sure about how he was going to react. She knew that he wasn’t used to physical touches, that he wasn’t comfortable with intimacy; but she couldn’t help it. Right now, she needed to touch him.

«It wouldn’t be possible because it’s already as hard as it can be,» she whispered as she closed the gap between them and pressed her chest again his back.

She could feel his muscles tensed in her embrace but she didn’t let him go. Quite the contrary, she put her arms around his waist and buried her face between his shoulder-blades, breathing him in. He remained still, quiet, but as she let her hand make its way up to his heart, she could feel its rhythm speed up under the fabric of his jacket.

«I can’t do this again,» she confessed in a sob.

She felt him shiver and for a second she thought that he was about to leave. She heard him inhale deeply and before she could realize it he was facing her, both his hands cupping her face.

«Come with me,» he proposed in a rush, looking at her right in the eyes.

Abby felt her heart skip a beat.

«What?» she asked, confused.

«Come with me to America,» he repeated more firmly as his thumbs started to brush along her jawline.

«I...I can’t, my daughter...I can’t,» she declined as she shook her head.

«She can come with us. I’ll take care of both of you,» he promised hopefully.

For a second Abby could almost see it: the life they wanted, the life they deserved; but it was insane. She felt her heart break one more time and tears blurred her sight.

«No...» she whispered reluctantly. «I mean, I know you would, and Lord only knows how badly I want to come with you, but I can’t. I can’t ask my daughter to leave her friends, her life here... I can’t take her somewhere where we don’t even know what tomorrow will be,» she told him, and each word seemed to burn her tongue and stab his heart.

The Count closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His grip on her face loosened as he took a step backward.

«I know. I’m sorry, it was foolish of me,» he said, nodding, his lower lip shaking slightly.

«I’m so sorry,» Abby sobbed, this time tears running down her cheeks.

«Me too,» he said with a painful smile before allowing himself to wipe a tear from her cheekbone with his thumb.

Abby shuddered under the caress. She closed her eyes and tried to memorize the feeling of his hand against her skin. She didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want him to leave, to leave her, to leave her forever. She was in pain, in so much pain. She felt as though there were a knife penetrating again and again, deeper and deeper in her heart. She didn’t want to lose a man she loved one more time. The fate couldn’t be so cruel.

«I...I...» she heard him stammer, so she opened her eyes.

He was staring at her. He was looking so vulnerable in that moment that it killed her even more. He was trying to tell her something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. His eyes flickered briefly to her lips, and her stomach clenched. He wanted to kiss her; she knew it, and she wanted him to, like at their last meeting in the royal gardens. She leaned toward him, inch by inch, her mouth already half-opened, ready to welcome him. She saw him bend his head and she suddenly felt like she had waited for this moment all her life without even knowing it. She had loved Jake, she had loved him with all her heart - but this, this thing she had with Marcus De Kane, it was something higher. Something she couldn’t explain but that she felt in her whole body and soul. His hot breath caressed her face and she was lost, her heart beating so fast in her chest that for a second she wondered if she was about to pass out. She stopped leaning at some point, just waiting for him; but the kiss she was waiting for never came. Instead, she felt Marcus’s mouth land on her forehead and this time, she couldn’t help but burst into tears. Her fingers clenched on the lapel of his jacket and she felt his lips press harder against her skin as if he were trying to muffle his own sobs.

«May we meet again,» he murmured, his mouth never leaving her forehead.

«May we meet again,» she returned, between two heartbreaking sobs.

They remained like this for a while, enjoying each others presence for the last time. Neither of them seemed ready to end this moment. Neither of them seemed to be able to take the first step backward. Neither of them wanted to, but they had to. So, reluctantly Marcus started to step back. Slowly. Painfully slowly. His fingers brushed against her face until she was out of reach, and neither of them broke eye contact until he had left the room.

When she heard the front door slam, Abby collapsed. She fell on her knees, more hurt than ever. The sobs were so intense that she wasn’t able to breathe properly. She was suffocating, strangled by her own pain.

«Abby,» Raven suddenly called after her as she arrived in the room, probably alerted by the Marquise’s whimpers.

«He’s gone,» Abby whined as she let the maid take her into a comforting embrace.

«He’s gone,» she said again, falling apart in Raven’s arms.

«I know...I heard you,» the maid told her as she tenderly stroked her hair.

It was over. She would never see him again. She would never again feel her cheeks catching fire as their gaze met. She would never again feel her stomach clench pleasantly as he smiled at her. He was gone. Gone forever. Contrary to Jake, the Count of Arkadia wasn’t dead but the pain she was feeling now was exactly the same. She had lost them both. She had never felt so lonely, so distraught, so desperate. Her thin body was shaking uncontrollably.

«Mum?» a voice suddenly resonated in the corridor.

Abby froze and instantly put her hands to her mouth to muffle her cries.

«Oh god! It’s Clarke,» she exclaimed in a low voice.

«I...I don’t want her to see me like this, please can you--,» Abby pleaded, trying desperately to wipe away the tears which were, nonetheless, still escaping.

«Yeah, got it,» Raven agreed as she got up and hurried to leave the room.

«Where is mom?» Clarke asked, her tone betraying her worry.

«She’s resting, she doesn’t want to be bothered, she doesn’t feel well,» Raven answered.

«Don’t lie to me Raven, I just saw the Count of Arkadia leaving the house,» Clarke retorted as the footsteps in the corridor seemed to come closer.

At that moment, Abby tried to stand up, but her body was failing her. It was as if all her strength, all her will had gone with Marcus De Kane.

«Clarke,» the maid hissed as some noises of elbowing were heard.

«Let me pass,» the girl ordered, and after a few seconds a blond hurricane stormed in.

«Mum?» Clarke exclaimed as she ran toward Abby, still kneeling on the floor.

«Honey, I--» the Marquise started to explain herself, but she was cut off.

«What happened?» the girl asked as she got down on her knee and cupped her mother’s face.

«Nothing, it’s really nothing,» the Marquise tried to reassure her with shifty eyes.

«Raven?» Clarke questioned the girl with a glare.

«It’s not my...» the maid tried to sneak off, but Clarke kept glaring at her.

«He’s leaving,» Raven finally explained with a sigh.

«For where?» Clarke asked.

«America. The king sent him there,» the maid told her.

«For how long ?» the girl wanted to know.

«Forever,» Abby croaked before bursting into tears one more time.

Clarke tightened her embrace around her and remained quiet for a minute. She was thinking, and when she looked up at Raven again, the latter just nodded in confirmation. There was nothing to say. Abby’s breakdown was enough to know.

«Mum, you can’t let him go,» the girl exclaimed after a few seconds.

«You have to stop him,» she added firmly.

Abby straightened up a little to look properly at her daughter and shook her head.

«No Clarke, I...I can’t. If he stays he will be sentenced to death,» she told her, her eyes red and wet with tears.

«He asked her to go with him,» Raven interrupted them.

«Raven,» the Marquise snapped.

She didn’t want to tell her daughter about that. She didn’t want her to feel guilty. She didn’t want her to think that she was the reason for her pain.

«Then why are you still here?» Clarke asked her, a hint of reproach in her voice.

Abigail blinked several times, stunned.

«Clarke! I...I can’t leave you, you’re my daughter I can’t--» she started to object, but the girl didn’t let her finish her sentence; instead laying a kiss on her forehead.

«I’m okay,» Clarke breathed with a smile, looking at her right in the eyes.

«What do you mean?» Abby asked her frowning.

«I can go with you,» the girl declared firmly with a nod.

«But...Clarke, you have a life here, your friends, your--,» the Marquise objected, shaking her head.

«Mum, all your life you put me and everybody else first, now it’s my turn to do it for you,» Clarke asserted as she stroked her mother’s cheeks.

«But...,» Abby tried again to demur, in vain.

«I belong where my family belongs. And my family belongs where each member can be happy. The king killed dad, and he didn’t help us after that; Marcus De Kane did. Without him, we would be dead from starvation and exposure by now. There's nothing left for us here. It’s our chance to find happiness again,» Clarke argued with tears in her eyes.

At each word, Abby wanted to cry even more. Her heart was so filled with joy that she wondered if it was about to explode. Was it real? Was she really about to leave for America with her family and Marcus De Kane? She was speechless, she didn’t know how to thank her daughter for that. She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

«Raven?» Clarke questioned the girl, a wide smile on her lips.

«You’re my family,» the maid answered, raising an unequivocal eyebrow.

«Let’s go to America then,» Clarke declared getting up on her feet, reaching for Abby’s hand.

*******

The next morning, Raven had heard, as she was looking for a carriage, that the Count of Arkadia would be on the Exodus ship with a hundred young exiled. Without any second thought, the three ladies had packed up and then hit the road.

They traveled for days to Nantes, the Atlantic harbor from which every royal ship was leaving to America. Abby’s feelings navigated between an intense excitement and a deep anxiety. What if they arrived too late? What if he was already gone? They didn’t have money to pay for travel - and the king was, without doubt, already aware of their departure by now. Thelonius Jaha wouldn’t forgive her for having tried to escape with the Count of Arkadia. Now, it was either America or the Bastille.

Despite Raven and Clarke’s reassuring words, the Marquise was more and more worried; and when the cabman, Jackson, finally stopped the carriage and told them that they'd arrived, she thought that she might be about to pass out.

The night was coming down, and despite the sound of the rain and the crashing waves, the commotion of the crew could be heard. Abby remained still, her fingers clenched around Jake's ring as a new kind of anxiety was engulfing her. They were in time. Marcus De Kane was just a few meters away. But what if he had changed his mind? What if he didn’t want her to come with him after all?

Clarke must have felt her anxiety, because she put her hand on hers and squeezed her fingers.

«You can do it,» she encouraged her with a tender smile, brushing the back of her hand lightly against her cheek.

Abby just stared at her for a second, wondering how she could have raised such a wonderful child. Like her father, Clarke was smart, generous and brave. She was the daughter every parent would have wanted. She deserved so much more - so much more than the grief she was bearing on her shoulders and in her heart. The Marquise felt her eyes starting to sting. She was so proud of her little princess, so proud of who she had become. She opened her mouth to tell her how much she loved her but she was cut off by the opening of the door.

«Ladies, they seem to be about to weigh anchor, you should hurry,» Jackson informed her, throwing a look over his shoulder.

«Okay, save the emotional speech for later. Let’s go,» Raven exclaimed as she jumped out of the carriage, grabbing Abby’s hand and pulling her with her.

The rain was pouring down but the Marquise didn’t care. The hem of her long gray dress was dirty in a second, but she didn’t even try to save it. Her gaze was fixed on the magnificent and huge ship in front on her, looking for a familiar figure. She started to move forward; and at each step, her heart was beating faster and faster. It was beating so hard that she couldn’t have been able to say if the buzzing in her ears was due to the rain or to her heartbeat. It was the craziest thing she had ever done in her life. It was both scary and exciting; but surprisingly, she liked that feeling. No - she loved that feeling.

«There,» Raven suddenly exclaimed, pointing her finger at a small group of men on the deck.

«Yes, it’s him,» Clarke confirmed with an unhidden excitement in her tone.

Abby blinked several times, and then she finally saw him. Yes, Marcus De Kane was there: wet to the bone, his white shirt almost transparent and stuck to his chest. He was yelling something to his men as he was pulling a rope. The Marquise felt a smile growing irresistibly on her lips and a long-forgotten fire starting to rise again in a forgotten place.

The young man who was helping the Count with the rope instinctively turned his head toward the quay and stopped his handling. Abby saw him looking at her for a second, and then he seemed to say something to the Count. The latter immediately stood still and Abby stopped breathing. Slowly, inch by inch, Marcus turned his head toward her and their gaze met.

«Abigail,» he mouthed.

«Marcus,» she whispered back, tears starting to fill her eyes.

Barely a second later, the Count let down the rope and raced toward her. Abby would have wanted to go meet him halfway but her legs were like jelly. She couldn’t move, nearly couldn’t breathe. Her whole body was shaking; but the weather wasn’t the one to blame.

At no point did the Count slow down, and when he finally arrived in front of her he did something unexpected, coming from him. Without any restraint, he closed his arms around her waist and lifted her up, holding her tight against him, burying his head in the crook of her neck. The impact cast down her wide-brimmed hat but neither of them paid attention to it. The Count was out of breath and his heart was beating so fast that the Marquise could feel its beat resonating in her own body.  

«I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again,» Abby whispered in his ear as she hugged him back, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Marcus let out a chuckle and she felt her own smile get bigger.  

«I had those fears myself,» he responded as he leaned back slightly to look at her properly, letting her feet find their way back to the ground.

They stared at each other for an eternity, not caring about the rain or the dozen of curious eyes which were surrounding them.

«I can’t believe you’re here...» he finally breathed out as he let his thumb brush against her cheekbone.

Abby closed her eyes and leaned against his touch. His palm was wet but warm, deliciously warm. As warm as his breath on her face and as warm than the sweet feeling which was growing in her belly.

«How did you--» he started to ask, and she couldn’t help but smile.

«I had a little help,» she confessed as she gave a look over her shoulder.

«Hope you still have some room for two lovely girls,» Raven said with a smirk.

Marcus’ surprised gaze traveled from the maid to Clarke, and then from the girls to Abby. He blinked several times and then seemed to regain his former composure despite an unusual blush on his cheeks. The Count cleared his throat and took a step backward, breaking his embrace with the Marquise; who immediately missed his touch.

«Ladies, please forgive me, I didn’t see you,» he apologized with a shy smile.  

The two girls exchanged a knowing look and chuckled.

«It’s okay, it’s the usual Marquise effect, hard to blame,» Raven told him with a smirk.

Abby bit her lower lip to prevent herself from chuckling as the Count smiled sheepishly, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

«Concerning your question, of course, you’re welcome to come aboard. By the way, we should get inside before catching our death,» he told her before bending down to pick up the Marquise’s hat.

«If you wouldn’t mind,» he invited them, showing the way with a circular motion of his arm.

*******

Once the girls had settled into a private cabin, the Count led Abby to her own quarters. They remained quiet as they walked along the corridors, just exchanging some knowing looks and shy smiles. They finally reached the biggest cabin of the ship and Abby immediately knew that it was the captain’s cabin; technically, then, that of Marcus De Kane.  She moved forward, admiring the gilts and the carved wood on the wall. There were also some paintings, predominantly somber; and at least a thousand books in the bookcase. A huge bay window  embellished the room, but the view was blocked by the darkness of the night. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a large bed, covered by fur and surrounded by candles. The vision made her cheeks turn slightly red but she couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on it a little longer than necessary.

«Your cabin is really lovely, Captain,» she finally said as she turned toward him, trying to ignore the impure thoughts which were invading her mind.

The Count had stayed at the entrance of the cabin. He was leaning against the closed-door, an overjoyed smile inked on his lips.

«It’s all yours,» he told her with a humble shrug.

«Really?» she asked with a wide smile, letting her finger slide along the desk next to her.

«Of course, I can’t, decently, let you sleep with the crew,» he joked.

«Yes, it would be improper, I’m afraid,» she said with an impish smile at the corner of her lips as she leaned slightly against the cabinet behind her.  

«And you, where will you sleep?» she asked him with a teasing voice, perfectly aware of how much her question could sound bold.

All her life, Abigail De Griffin had been a good wife, a good mother and a good daughter of the church. All her life had been guided by morality and virtue.  She had done everything that God was expecting from her but where had it gotten her? She had almost lost everything, and without Marcus De Kane, she would have really lost everything. Running away with a banished man was already the first step toward a life of sin and anyway; she was tired of being a good woman. She didn’t want to live the life she was supposed to live anymore, she wanted to live the life she wanted.

Her question made the Count chuckle in embarrassment.

«In the cabin of my second, I suppose,» he answered with a shrug, looking at his feet.

This wasn’t the answer the Marquise was waiting for. She felt a hint of disappointment press her stomach and she looked down, a little ashamed because of her previous audacity. Of course, the Count didn’t intend to share a bed with a woman who wasn’t his wife. He was too respectful to even think about it but then...

«Unless...» he said tentatively, and they both looked up at each other.

«Yes?» she encouraged him to keep going in a breath.

«Maybe... if you... I....» he stammered, starting to walk slowly toward her.

Abby felt a strong shiver striking her whole body.

«Yes,» she said again - but this time it wasn’t a question, it was an answer. It was a statement. It was a declaration coming from the depths of her heart.

Something seemed to break inside the Count and in two last long strides, he closed the distance between them. This time, he didn’t sneak off, didn’t hesitate; he cupped her face and crashed his mouth firmly against hers. A deep moan of relief and pleasure escaped from the Marquise’s throat.  Without thinking, she grasped the fabric of his wet shirt and pulled him harder against her. She had waited for this for so long that she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. She wanted this: his lips brushing against hers, his tongue taking possession of her mouth; his hands, big and warm, mapping her whole body. She wanted all of this.

He was kissing her with a fervor and an assertiveness that she would have never suspected, and it turned her on like never before. At some point, his grip on her face loosened. One of his hands found its way up through her hair while the other started to slide along the closure of her jacket, without ever stopping his devouring of her lips.

«Take it off,» she heard herself begging against his mouth.

With one swift movement, the Count tore her scarf off and immediately started to ravage her neck with his lips, tongue, and teeth. The Marquise instinctively threw her head back, whimpers springing up from the deepest part of herself.

Usually, Abigail was a quiet lover, even when she reached the peak of her pleasure. But, right now, the friction of Marcus’ beard against her skin, the sensation of his mouth on her, the feeling of his desire for her; everything was too much. She couldn’t control herself anymore, she couldn’t even try.

The count started to unbutton her jacket, revealing her white lace blouse and her corset, and she couldn’t help but giggle as she saw his gaze darken with desire. Intrigued, he looked up at her face and she offered him a wide smile in answer.

«Don’t stop,» she encouraged him softly, stroking his cheek tenderly.

«I didn’t intend to,» he told her with a smirk before dipping his head into her cleavage, pushing her back until she laid completely on the desk.

Abby let herself lie back and closed her eyes as she felt his tongue slide teasingly along her sternum.

«You’re so beautiful,» he breathed against her skin as he nuzzled under the hem of her blouse.

As a reply, Abby put her hand on his head and stroked his hair. It was still wet, like hers, but she loved how it felt under her palm and between her fingers. He seemed to like it because as one of his hands was unlacing her corset, his other hand had found her arm and brushed against it, encouraging her to keep going with her caress. He wanted to touch her, and he wanted her to touch him too, she realized. So, when she was finally free of her corset she pushed him back and sat up, facing him.

«Let me,» she told him as an answer at the questioning look he was giving her.

Without another word, she grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up slowly, taking care to let her fingers brush lightly against his skin.

Once the shirt gone, the Marquise took a moment to admire the well-defined muscles in front of her.  She felt her mouth becoming dry, contrary to the lower part of her belly. She wanted to touch it, to feel it, to taste it, so she did so. She began by letting her forefinger follow the contour of each pectoral and then of each abdominal muscle. Under her touch, she could feel Marcus’ muscles tense, and goose bumps appeared on his skin. Then, she tilted her head and start to kiss every part of his chest she could reach. At first, her kisses were just light touches but as she heard the Count's breathing quicken, she became bolder and pressed her lips harder and harder until she finally just sucked at his skin, leaving some lovely bruises behind her.

Her mouth made its way up to his neck and then she bit lightly at his earlobe, making him growl.

«Take me to bed,» she whispered sensually in his ear.  

«As you wish,» Marcus granted with deference, putting one of his arms under her knees and the other around her waist.

He lifted her up effortlessly, as if she weighed no more than a feather. Abby automatically wrapped her arms around his neck and let her nose and lips brush lightly along his jawline.

Once he arrived at the edge of the bed, he laid her down carefully onto the mattress. Abby reached for him, but he remained standing, just looking at her.

«Tell me that this isn’t a dream,» he asked, the desire in his eyes being momentarily replaced by something more troubled, almost painful.

The Marquise didn’t respond immediately, she just stared at him, right in the eyes and without breaking eye-contact, as she took off her skirt. The sight of her long and slender legs made him swallow hard.

«If it is, I hope I never wake up,» she answered with a half-shy, half-teasing smile as she laid completely down, her arms above her head and her legs slightly opened, ready to welcome him.

This time, the Count didn’t waste more time; he climbed on top of her and hungrily captured her lips with his. Abby immediately locked up her legs around his waist and tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing him harder, fully against her. In a reflexive motion, Marcus pulled his hips up and they both moaned in unison.

«Again,» Abby couldn’t help but plead, the feeling of his hardness against her entrance already becoming an addiction to her.

She felt him grin against her mouth, and one second later, he was pushing his hips between her thighs again. A pulse of arousal took over her and her breathing became more erratic.

«Like that?» he asked with a husky voice as one of his hands found its way under the fabric of her lace blouse, his fingertips brushing higher and higher along her leg.

«Yes,» she breathed out as she arched her back, the pursuit of pleasure becoming the only thought in her mind.

The Count tilted his head and started to leave a trail of hot kisses along her jawline, her carotid, and then along the valley of her breasts. Inch by inch, he tugged at the hem of her neckline, slowly exposing the creamy skin of her voluptuous curves; and then the pink skin of her nipples. The Marquise held back her breath in anticipation.

She felt the warmth of his breath first, quickly followed by the tingling of his beard and then the dampness of his tongue.

«Sweet Jesus,» she couldn’t help but hiss between her teeth as Marcus’ ministrations became more confident, more passionate, more eager.

His hand on her thighs finally reached his aim and Abby immediately lost her connection with the reality of the outside world. Right now, all she was aware of was how good Marcus’s weight felt on top of her, how intoxicating his smell was, how loving and delectable his touches were. He started to apply more and more pressure on where she needed him to and her lower belly seemed to catch fire. She felt like if lightning was crossing her whole body from side to side. This feeling, this bittersweet sensation, was new to her and she didn’t know how to handle it. Her body started to shake uncontrollably and she wasn’t able to know if she wanted more of if she wanted it to stop.

«Hey, hey, hey...» Marcus soothed her, whispering in her ear, as if he had read her mind.

«It’s okay, keep breathing. Don’t think, just feel...» he murmured, lightly kissing the side of her face.

Abby closed her eyes and nodded. She took a deep breath, probably the deepest breath she had ever taken, and there she was... The pleasure hit her hard, harder than ever in all her life.

«That’s it. That’s it. Let yourself go,» he encouraged her, leading her steadily toward the peak of her orgasm.

Abby clung desperately to him, her nails scratching the skin of his back as irrepressible moans escaped her throat. He was driving her to madness. He was making her taste heaven and hell at the same time.

«You-make me feel-so--,» she tried to tell him between two breaths when she came back to her senses; but she didn’t even know how to end her sentence.

«Oh my god! I can’t even find the right word,» she confessed as her panting turned into uncontrollable laughs.

«Wow, that should be a first,» the Count chuckled, kissing her cheek softly.

«What?» she asked him with a wide smile, stroking fondly his beard.

«Someone, making the Marquise of Espérence wordless,» he joked with a grin.

Abby burst out of laughing before capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

«I want you inside me,» she whispered in his ear, raising her hips from the mattress to rub them sensually against his obvious hardness.

«Nothing would pleasure me more,» he granted, stealing one more languorous kiss before taking off his pants.

The Marquise took the opportunity to remove her blouse and waited, all naked and hot with desire. When Marcus looked up at her, as naked as her, all Abby could see in his eyes was desire, love, and pure adoration. A wave of emotions flooded her heart, and she bit her lower lip to control herself. It wasn’t the time to cry, even tears of joy. It was time to live, to enjoy the life they both deserved.

«Love me, Marcus,» she asked him for as she reached out to him.

«Love me,» she said again in a breath as he settled between her thighs.

«I will,» he swore, his forehead pressed against hers.

«I will. As long as you want me to,» he vowed before giving her a kiss which took her breath away.

«Forever, then,» she panted as she let her hand find his manhood and started to stroke him there.

«Forever,» he echoed in a guttural moan as she guided him inside her.

Slowly, carefully, inch by inch, he started to push into her, swallowing her moans with kisses. Abby reached for his hand and intertwined her fingers with his above her head, encouraging him to go deeper and deeper with the pressure of her feet on his ass.

«Wait,» she ordered him when he finally filled her to the hilt, wedged his hips between her thighs.

«Did I-- Did I hurt you?» he asked with concern, trying to withdraw.

«No, no, no,» she gasped, holding him tighter against her.

«Just-- Just don’t move. Stay there,» she told him in a pleading voice.

She loved that sensation. Feeling him hot and hard inside her. She hadn’t felt this fulfilled and this happy since an eternity. She didn’t want it to end. She wanted to keep him there forever.

«I love you,» the words escaped her before she could think about it.

She felt him stop breathing for a second, and then he straightened up a little to look properly at her.

«And I love you, too,» he told her, his expression betraying the wave of emotions which was now engulfing him.

«I love you so much,» he said, starting to move again inside her.

For the second time that night, Abby felt something strong, something ecstatic took the control of her body. This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just love. It was something so much stronger, a unique mental connection. Two souls, two hearts, two human beings made for each other.

At one point, Marcus started to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was, how good she felt, how much he loved her; but the words, as arousing as they were, were nothing to compare to the physical feeling of his body melting against hers, of him thrusting inside her again and again and again until they both lost their minds in an explosion of pleasure and muffled cries.

They didn’t sleep that night. They almost didn’t sleep the next nights, either. Feeling the other had become an addiction, a sweet uncontrollable addiction. They were two banished people, two lost souls navigating toward uncharted territory, surrounded by a hundred children who gradually became theirs. Two people, deeply in love with each other who lost their title; who gave up their past in order to finally become the _Marquise & the Count of the hundred angels._

 

 


End file.
